“who birthed the seas?”
it was snowing,
but it fell upon us warm and scattered,
like ash,
like dust,
i turned my head,
and watched you speak.
“sometimes i wonder who cradled her when she was just a puddle,
who nourished her to grow this big.”
i felt as if seas could grow in me.
“stay”
i begged,
“this city is so empty,
even with all these waves at its back.
and,
and stay,
for me,
because these feet don't know the route back.”
you whispered back, eyes shut,
“i want to know this body's delicacy.
how light would it need to be to sink?”
“micka, please.”
“micka?”
“and when do we ever find the time,
that is what i truly wonder,
time to search the sea,
time to fill our empty stomachs with its insides?
everything is just so rapid,
i feel like i can't breathe.”
i krept closer, the tide rising and falling like a set of lungs.
“stay,”
i said again,
watching while your hands grazed gentle waters,
searching for depth.
you hummed,
looked over and pressed a wet palm against my face.
the sea was a silent wash of stillness beside us.
your breath was loud against my cheek,
be comfortable, darling
I’ll be here awhile.
who birthed the seas? who cradled her when she was just a puddle? who nourished her to grow this big?
